hamilton burr fan fiction
by trubelieber007
Summary: Aaron Burr shot Alexander Hamilton in the hip, and he's secretly a little bit sorry for it. So he drops by Hamilton's house and tries to set things right. There is sexual tension. AU because Hamilton doesn't die and he died in real life.


hamilton/burr slash fanfiction au because hamilton doesnt die he lives

Nearly one month to the day after exchanging bullets, Alexander Hamilton and Aaron Burr saw each other again.

This time, however, there was a clear disadvantage, as Hamilton was confined to a bed and Burr, in all his smugness and overlingering victory, was standing over him. A smirk was drawn across his face, pushing his right cheek up proudly.

The same could not be said for Hamilton, who was clutching his healing side wound with one hand and struggling to reach for something on his bedside table with the other, possibly a pistol. The pain in his expression was overshadowed by the hatred in it as well. Burr chuckled at the sight and clasped his hands behind him as he slowly strode around the bed.

"Don't strain yourself, now, General Hamilton," he said, sneer growing. "Mrs. Hamilton tells me you're still in no position to be doing anything too strenuous."

At this Hamilton grit his teeth and hoisted himself up into a recline. "Well, Colonel Burr," he spat, "you look just as you did when I last saw you."

"And indeed I am just as you left me - mobile and victorious," Burr said. "Tell me, now, did you have a death wish or did you genuinely think you stood a chance? When I offered you the challenge, I cannot say I expected you to accept with such enthusiasm."

"Why are you here, Burr? Come to try your hand at finishing me off again?" Hamilton said. "I always knew you had a malicious streak, but I should hope you have the dignity to at least wait until a man is off his bedrest before firing another shot at him."

"Ah, I see Alexander Hamilton is once again well enough to return to his old habits of slander," Burr said, and Hamilton could've sworn he saw him roll his eyes. "Relax. I've come merely as a courtesy. No particularly hard feelings or dastardly intentions. Besides," and at this his smirk widened so greatly that he was able to flash his teeth at Hamilton, "I never intended to kill you. I assure you, if I had, I would have done so. No, what pleasure would I derive from seeing you dead? Who, then, would I count on to defame me in any publication that would accept his words?"

Hamilton scoffed. "Plenty of people would love to speak their minds about you, _Aaron_," he said. "Why have you really come here? I heard you got your charges dropped. Your connections, surely, were of great aid there."

"Oh, believe me, _Alexander_," Burr said, unable to hold in a laugh, "I have never used my connections for anything but the most honorable of purposes. You've practically written my biography in those letters of yours. You should know."

"I should never have let you win that duel," Hamilton said. "It's gone straight to your head. As if you needed another reason to be pompous. I imagine your ego is so inflated now that any bullets of mine would simply ricochet off you."

"Oh, dear General, it strikes me that you would aim the pistol at your own head rather than mine."

"Burr, if I could stand-"

"All right, enough, enough," a voice tittered. Elizabeth Hamilton scurried into the room, grabbed Burr by the coatsleeve, and began to steer him out of the room. "I should never have let you in in the first place. If you weren't still in Mr. Jefferson's good books..." She curled her lips inward and shook her head as she continued attempting to usher the much larger Burr towards the door.

"It's quite fine," Burr said. "I was about to leave anyway. Business needs tending to. I wouldn't be able to put my dealings on hold for just anybody. Consider this visit my... apology for leaving you in this state. When you're well again, General, do call upon me. We may, perhaps, meet and further discuss my shortcomings."

Hamilton growled and struggled to sit up further, but his wound made him wince and sink back down into the bed. By the time he'd unclenched his eyes, Burr had gone, Elizabeth had left to see him out, and he was alone.

Sleep returned shortly after.

As autumn arrived in New York, Hamilton healed and tried to put Burr out of his mind, save for when he wrote his letters. To Gouverneur Morris, he wrote, _The bastard has gone south, and may he remain there, for when I can once again stand I shall personally walk to his estate and deliver him a shot of his own!_ And it was mid-October before he was rendered capable of walking and incapable of keeping Aaron Burr from his thoughts any longer.

A letter arrived for him one afternoon, sealed in an envelope that bore the scent of mead. Hamilton opened it and, upon seeing whom it was from, recoiled slightly in both surprise and disgust.

_General Hamilton,_

_I have heard no news of your passing, so I presume that your healing is progressing well. I do apologize for dropping by unexpected in August. Next time I shall be sure to write in advance so you may anticipate my arrival and prepare your pistol without injuring yourself further._

_I have returned to Washington after a brief stay further south, and am writing to request your presence at my estate for an evening. I hate to use the phrase "making amends" as I am certain that doing so is the furthest thing from your mind, but perhaps we can discuss things to such a point that next time we meet we will not be holding weapons in our hands. It would be a pleasure to be on non-violent terms with my fellow countryman._

_I have no prior engagements on the evening of November the 25th. You may come by at any time on that date. I trust you know the location of my residence._

_Yours, unscathed,_

_Col. Aaron Burr_

As Alexander Hamilton set the letter down on his desk, he felt unease in his stomach and fury in his chest. Burr was absolutely impossible to deal with, and for him to make an invitation like this to Hamilton so soon after _shooting him in the hip_ was uncharacteristic, to put it mildly, but Hamilton still sensed Burr's jocular, sardonic tone through the words, and suspected that there were other motives involved.

He reached for his ink and paper and wrote a quick response, hand shaking slightly.

_Burr,_

_I do not know what your true intentions are here, for Heaven knows you have not expressed them in your letter, but be assured that when I arrive at your estate, I shall have on my person the pistol that failed to kill you, lest you attempt any form of trickery. November 25th, then._

_Alexander Hamilton_

And November 25th came faster than Hamilton could anticipate. Winter so far had been mild and fairly pleasant, but when Hamilton realized that soon he would be dining with his nemesis, the man he despised more than any other, the snow suddenly felt brusque and unwelcoming. He informed Elizabeth that he would be gone on publication business and rode alone to Washington.

A servant took his horse when he arrived at Burr's home. It had grown dark an hour or two ago, and he had arrived not a moment too soon, for it was beginning to snow rather heavily and he felt in great need of some ale and warm food. He reached out for the door knocker, but before he could grasp it the door swung open to reveal Aaron Burr standing there, well-groomed and dressed impeccably.

"Ah, General Hamilton," he said, attempting a warm and genuine smile, "again we can see eye to eye."

"It is not height that makes the bigger man, Burr," Hamilton said. "Let me in. Your bullet has made standing in the cold a bit of an inconvenience."

Burr's smile widened as he stepped aside and beckoned Hamilton in dramatically. Hamilton shrugged his coat off as soon as the door was shut and a servant took it to another room. Burr continued to smile, almost innocently, as he watched Hamilton take in his surroundings. Burr's house was well-furnished, almost lavish, but didn't quite feel lived in. Hamilton could tell that he didn't spend a lot of time there.

"Come," Burr said, motioning him inward. "We'll be dining without company tonight. I expect you'll agree that our issues are ours and ours alone." Hamilton nodded and followed him into the dining room.

For the first half of the meal, Hamilton remained quiet, instead turning his attention to the food, which was splendid, and the ale was wonderful. The sound of his chewing was almost loud enough to drown out Burr's constant talking. Hamilton had no idea what he was talking about, but whatever it was, he didn't care enough to divert his attention from the food. It wasn't until Burr brought up his August visit that Hamilton began to listen.

"Quite honestly I don't know what reaction I was expecting to get out of you that day," he said, setting his glass down. "Surely you knew that I had no intentions of apologizing to you. After all, it was you who initiated the duel, and you who set the hair triggers - oh, yes, I figured out the hair triggers, Hamilton," he said as Hamilton's eyes widened. "I know my way around guns, and I know you do as well. Regardless of what you insist, you've had more than your fair share of duels, General. And me... well, of the many things you're never supposed to forget about war, the only things I haven't forgotten are guns. Interesting, how your own little trick wound up leading to your own loss. Perhaps next time, we should simply fight a fair fight."

Hamilton's fists were clenched around his napkin. "Burr, I did not come here to be mocked, so we should get to the point of this little meeting quickly so I can retire for the evening."

"This is the point, Alexander," Burr said, that infuriating smirk returning to his face. "Airing things out between us. The less we keep to ourselves, the better we'll be able to get along, perhaps."

"Highly doubtful," Hamilton said. "I have no interest in ever 'getting along' with you and so we never shall."

"Perhaps."

"You don't seem to understand, Burr." Hamilton slammed his fork down on the table with such force that it bounced off and landed on the floor. "We were never meant to get along. Our politics. Your character. Your disrespect. The fact that you almost killed me. This dinner is not going to fix one thing."

"Then why did you come?"

"I came because I- I came to... I came so I could..."

Burr took a drink from his glass of ale, and as he lowered it down again Hamilton saw a smirk wider than any that had adorned his face before. Victorious again. Hamilton drained his glass.

After dinner Burr offered to show Hamilton his library. Though wary, Hamilton agreed to have a quick look, wanting to see how it compared to his own. Now it was his turn to smirk, for he found that Burr's library was tiny - perhaps a few hundred books, compared to Hamilton's two thousand.

"No wonder we don't get along particularly well, then," Burr said when Hamilton boasted this. "With me being so uneducated and underread, and you being such a seasoned scholar of the written word-"

"If you are trying to get me to pity you, then you are failing miserably," Hamilton said.

"No pity sought," Burr said, holding his hands up. "Merely trying to guess what's on your mind."

"What's on my mind is you lighting that darned fireplace before I freeze to death in this room," Hamilton snapped. Burr acquiesced, and glanced back over his shoulder at Hamilton as he did so.

"For someone so open about his feelings towards me, you don't seem to be expressing much gratitude, General," he said.

"Oh, am I supposed to thank you for keeping your own home heated?" Hamilton sneered.

"Perhaps, perhaps not. I haven't read many books on etiquette. But I should think at least a bit of thanks for the dinner and drink?"

"Burr, you put a bullet in my hip. I need not thank you for anything for the rest of our lives, I think."

"Fair enough, I suppose."

"You want to know the real problem I have with you?" Hamilton shouted, his temper reaching its limit. "You act like everything is just fine now that you've invited me to your house and fed me dinner, but it has _never_ been fine, Burr. That's how we ended up with pistols pointed at each other in the first place. You do nothing but aggravate me, you're always so insolent, so-"

"Oh, and you've never done anything to make me rightfully angry?" Burr shouted back. "You've never written page after page of epithet about me to your damned Federalist friends? You haven't slandered me at every chance you've gotten? You haven't made your life's goal to defame me as harshly and as often as you can?"

"That is not my life's goal. I have much better things to commit to than your affairs, you stubborn, ineloquent... ass!"

"Oh, for God's sake, shut up," Burr said, and he grabbed Hamilton by the shoulders, and he pushed him back against a bookshelf, and he brought his face to within an inch of Hamilton's, and he looked him in the eyes and took a deep breath before kissing him, hard, before Hamilton even had the chance to inhale. Burr's eyes scrunched shut while Hamilton's widened in shock, his limbs paralyzed. He forgot about the pain in his hip for a moment and then it became terribly apparent, causing his legs to give way as Burr held him up. Then began Hamilton's scramble to break free of Burr's grip, his lips.

He struggled and shifted until finally Burr pulled away, gasping and panting, blinking the phosphenes out of his vision. They looked at each other and tried to catch their respective breaths.

"Wh... what the hell was that?" Hamilton asked. "What the hell are you doing? Is this why you wanted me to come here? Wh... I... What are you _doing_?"

"I'm sorry," Burr said quickly, suddenly unable to look Hamilton in the eye. "I don't know- I don't know what that was. I'm sorry. I don't know what I'm doing."

"I think you do!" Hamilton gasped. "One doesn't do something like that without knowing what they're doing, Burr! What is this?"

"I..."

Hamilton sighed and grabbed a shelf for support. "Well, if you're going to do it again, we'd better move to that seat over there, for if I stand much longer I might collapse."

"I- What?"

"The seat, _Aaron_, if you're going to do that again I'd like to be sitting down."

Burr didn't speak. He walked to Hamilton's side, looped one of his arms around his shoulders, and helped him hobble over to the seat. Hamilton leaned back into the cushions and Burr tossed a few aside so that he could sit down next to him. He took Hamilton's face in his hands and kissed him again.

This time both men closed their eyes. Breathing was difficult with their noses pressed into each other's faces, but they managed a technique after a while. They could feel every exhale on their skin, and each one seemed to drive Burr to kiss Hamilton harder. With his tongue, Burr parted Hamilton's lips and he shivered, grasping at Burr's face, neck, shoulders, anywhere he could get a grip on. When their lips parted, it was only to adjust their positions and gasp for breath. Neither could really say what had happened to lead up to this, and neither really cared because Burr's tongue pushed past Hamilton's lips again and shivers went down both of their spines and a moan came from somewhere deep in Hamilton's throat, which in turn prompted a moan from Burr, and he pulled away panting.

"_Fuck,_" he breathed.

Hamilton gasped, partly because of the shock of hearing that obscenity escape from Burr's lips but mostly because Burr's lips had left his and he wanted them back. His thoughts were passing through his head so quickly he could only get glimpses of them - how had this happened, what was he feeling, Elizabeth, Burr's wife, where was he, how much had he had to drink - but the most recurring one was the need to get Burr back on top of him, to touch him everywhere he could, to feel the warmth of his skin because the warmth coming from the fireplace just wasn't enough anymore.

Burr kissed him again, and Hamilton began to feel dizzy with anticipation. He suddenly became extremely aware of Burr's hands pushing his jacket from his shoulders, Burr's hands getting closer and closer to his skin, why was he wearing so many clothes, God, Burr's hands opening his shirt and taking off his undershirt and touching his skin, leaving the cravat on, and this time it was Hamilton who pulled away, the cold tips of Burr's fingers on his warm stomach making him break away for breath as he whispered, "Oh, God, please," and then his hands were taking off Burr's clothes, the coat, the jacket, the boots, the breeches, the shirts, the undershirt, and then the cold from outside and the heat from inside mixed and mingled and stung at their skin and to protect each other they touched each other, hands running over every inch of skin they could reach.

"What are we doing?" Hamilton moaned as Burr straddled his legs, ripped his cravat off, and began to kiss his neck.

"Don't care," Burr murmured, his teeth just barely scraping Hamilton's neck as his hands wandered down to Hamilton's waistband, trying to slip his fingers underneath it. "Need to get... these breeches off..."

One of Burr's hands started pulling the breeches down while another began rubbing Hamilton's cock through the fabric. Hamilton cried out and threw his head back.

"Burr- Aaron, oh, God."

"Al-Alexander..." Burr muttered as he pulled Hamilton's breeches off his thighs, yanked his boots off, and threw the breeches on the floor. "Shut _up_." He kneeled on the floor, pushed Hamilton's legs apart, grasped the base of his cock, and took the head in his mouth.

Hamilton couldn't keep quiet then. It was impossible. He moaned louder than he'd thought it was possible for him to moan and his entire body shook as Burr began to suck. He ran his tongue up from the base and settled into a rhythm. Hamilton's hands grabbed at Burr's shoulders and his nails dug into the skin there as Burr looked up at him.

"Aaron," Hamilton said, his voice quivering. Burr stopped sucking and stood over him, holding his face roughly in his hands.

"I told you to _shut up_, Hamilton," Burr said before kissing him again. "You've talked enough tonight. Shut up." He got back on his knees, sucked on a finger, and slowly pushed it into Hamilton. Hamilton shook and bit on his lip to keep from crying out at the pain, the noises he wanted to make getting muffled in his throat. Burr pushed another finger in and Hamilton's eyes began to water, but then the fingers crooked and touched something inside him and he _had_ to moan, if he'd bit any harder on his lip he would've drawn blood. And he moaned so loud it was almost a scream and that caused the smirk returned to Burr's sweaty face as he let his fingers brush the spot over and over again. He added a third one and the pain became almost pleasurable, and then Burr started sucking his cock again and it _was_ pleasurable, more pleasurable than anything Hamilton had ever felt before.

Then Burr stood up again and pulled his fingers out. He grabbed his cock at the base and stood between Hamilton's legs. "This... this might hurt a bit... but..."

"How... how do you know?" Hamilton panted.

"Shut up, Hamilton," Burr said, and pushed into him. Both of them cried out and Burr gripped the back of the seat and tried to find his footing. "Fuck," he breathed again, and this time Hamilton was too overwhelmed with sensations to care.

They stayed there for a minute before Burr grabbed Hamilton's hips, taking care to avoid the gunshot wound, and started pushing in and out, the two of them shuddering with every movement, and then Burr's cock found that spot and Hamilton moaned and began stroking his own cock, which served only to make him moan louder. Burr was panting and groaning with every thrust, muttering "God, yes, oh, God" under his breath.

"H- Hamilton, I fucking hate you, you know," he murmured. Hamilton could do nothing but moan. He started stroking his cock faster and faster, and his panting got heavier and heavier until at last he cried out and came, and the dizziness was so intense he could barely keep his head upright, and all the while Burr was thrusting in and out of him until he too came with a shudder and a gasp.

He slowed his thrusting and finally pulled out and kissed Hamilton, softer this time, still breathing hard and half-muttering under his breath.

"So is _this_ why you wanted me to come here?" Hamilton asked.

"Don't be an idiot, Hamilton," Burr said. "This was just a possible eventuality."

"What did we just do?" Hamilton said.

"If you ever figure out the answer to that, let me know. Perhaps we're both just drunk."

"Possibly. Probably. I hope so."

"Where were you going to go after this?"

"Was planning on finding an inn in town to stay the night."

"You can stay here for tonight. I've got a bedroom."

"Thank you."

"You're still a loose-lipped, patronizing ass."

"I know. You're still one of those too."


End file.
